


Guilty Pleasures

by All0doxaphobia



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I really like arguments, Kieran deserves better, Kieran's afraid of confronting his issues, Lauren deserves better, because masochism, but I like writing about them, lauren's a hypocrite, not actually, you know how it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All0doxaphobia/pseuds/All0doxaphobia
Summary: "Kieran will wait for her at the bridge. Because that’s what he always does, and it’s what he will continue to do.He will lie through his teeth about how sorry he is. It’s a lie she will accept. One she will tangle with her own, and he will have the luxury of not being able to tell the difference anymore. They will repeat these lies until one day it stops becoming one.And when it stops being a lie, they will start again."There's a neverending cycle in the guilty pleasures they indulge in.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Guilty Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> "And I bet you joined because killing is your guilty pleasure?"
> 
> "Oh...if we start talking about guilty pleasures, this conversation is going to get long.
> 
> Don't worry though, officer! You're not one of them."
> 
> ...(Sike)

**_"I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine" -Emily Bronte_** **_, Wuthering Heights_ **

As vehemently as Kieran tries to deny it, he is merely a human. A man, to be precise.

And men have their vices.

Kieran often indulged in little pleasures to prevent falling into something he couldn't escape, but that only helps you so much when you're a depraved soul in a cruel, unfeeling world.

Kieran craved these vices, craved these touches like a beggar.

Kieran kept this in mind as he slipped out of his bed, softly tugging on clothing to replace the ones scattered on the floor. He was missing a shirt. He didn't need to question where it was.

He picked up her clothes from the ground as well, folding it neatly and placing it on the edge of the bed for when she was ready to leave.

He'd only paused for a brief second to contemplate how to adjust his morning routine accordingly, when the bundle of sheets before him rustled, a small hand, much darker than his own, peeked out from under the blankets. Kieran couldn’t help but smile and sink into the mattress beside her.

Dark, messy ringlets framed her heart-shaped face and slightly swollen lips. she was in his shirt, the crisp white dipping and curving over her waist and hip, the hem just barely brushing her mid-thigh, which rode up when she shifted into a sitting position.

“Good morning, _You_ ,” she mumbled, a bleary smile fluttering across her lips, a sheepish one of his own rising in a failed attempt to match hers. He reached out to tug a stray curl, tucking it behind her ear. She caught his wrist, suddenly wide awake with an impish grin lighting up her eyes that were terribly cute while glazed over in drowsiness. So pretty…

In this game of theirs, they pretended to remember the names they exchanged when their inhibitions were down; they pretended to be unbothered by a stranger’s presence beside them, their only common interest being the hazy memory of the night before, chased away by like it was its own little dream.

What he didn’t count on was the pang of guilt in his stomach that he _knew_ she didn’t match. Because they didn’t go down together for the same reasons. 

She’d wanted fun.

He wanted to _forget_...

_The brick was rough against his palm as his fingers curled into a fist._ **_She_** _stood a few measly feet away from him, arms crossed, feet planted, moonlight and frost rooting her where she stood in a single act of defiance. Stray wisps of crimson framed her face as they began to lose track of whatever catalyst sparked the argument._

_“Funny how I exist so you can shift the blame from people who actually deserve criticism,_ Officer _.”_

_“Funny how_ I _exist to be your propped up display of wishful thinking,_ Hyacinth _.”_

_"Monster" spat the Hypocrite. And the Monster couldn’t deny it._

He flinched, curling his hand around hers tightly.

“You alright, dove?” she murmured, closer now. Her eyes were searching now as if just seeing him. He honestly wished he could do the same. He managed to offer a genuine smile, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

“Don’t worry about me, darling.” he eased her attention from him and his hurt, and toward the curl of his lips where they pressed to her small, soft hands. “I’m going to make breakfast. Would you like to stay a little longer?” he kept his voice low. Kept his eyes lowered, the perfect picture of bashfulness that he remembered drew her in when they met.

Her lips pressed together in a display of contemplation, genuinely considering whether to stay in the home of a stranger. A slow, steady smile curled the corners of her mouth upwards, her eyes glittering as she leaned forward to press her lips to his. Timid, testing. Accepting.

“I suppose I have a little time before work…” She smirked, so _soft_ compared to a certain someone he used to know. He pushed and pulled against it, repulsed and enraptured by the woman before him. Despising himself for becoming _her._

_“Forgive me, O pious Saint. We can’t all lie to ourselves to use people.”_

Kieran pulled her from his bed, languid hands trailing down her hips. She giggled as he peppered her skin with playful kisses until she twisted out of his grip, bundling her clothes in her arms so she could shower, a cheeky request to join her all too tempting to accept, and all too painful to decline.

This is how it goes.

He savors how it feels to forget. How it feels to ignore the skin he soiled with the blood of innocents.

And most importantly, he forgets the vile words spat at him like bullets she so loves to threaten with, replacing them with the featherlight words of a stranger.

This is the average morning of a man who knows vice, and the steadfast guilt that is quick to arrive.

* * *

  
  


It seems that a saint is capable of having their own twisted cravings as well.

Lauren Sinclair liked to deny her flaws, but Kieran was always there to remind her. She loved to chase. She loved to dredge and mock and spark, an ever-expanding wildfire that carries to the forestry surrounding, smoke encroaching on other people’s lungs.

So the next time the officer and the archivist lock eyes, they don’t conceal their contempt. It’s there, weaving through the previously calm air like cigarette smoke, curling the lips, and burning the nose. It’s the unraveling of a thread, of silent treatment and rustling papers crinkling absently, and bitter coffee pressed into the wooden desk with controlled deliberation.

It’s the tight smile they offer each other, and the tense intrigue of third party gazes flitting between the two as strained small talk is made.

It’s the demands Lauren Sinclair doesn’t need to speak for him to know. That he lets slide off him with casual dismissal of her entire presence.

_Fight back._

_I will not_.

The door clicks shut somewhere near the hallway. He doesn’t need to call out to the presence he already named. He doesn’t want to.

“We need to talk.” She says, her every step reverberating in his ears like the chime of bells in a cathedral. Consuming, Overwhelming.

He shrugs. There’s no getting around her other than to block her out completely.

"Kieran, look at me."

He turns swiftly on his heel, forcing her to follow him around while he focuses his attention on anyone but her.

He can feel her tense, can feel her jaw clench and her fists tighten as her mind flickers with a thousand curses for his “indignance.”

"You have no right ignoring me when, if I recall correctly, it was _you_ who walked away." she crosses her arms tightly. 

“The tail of a dog will always stay tucked, I suppose.”

Lauren makes her last mistake with him.

He slams his hands down onto the desk.

"Since you seem a little too quick to forget what happened last night, let me remind you, _dearest_." He sneers, staring head-on at the wall ahead of him, spitting out the words he'd been holding at bay for the pride of a woman that he no longer cherished.

"It’s only fair. You _love_ to remind me how monstrous I can be, but it's you who lets me walk free. How highly do you think of yourself that you can condemn me for the same actions you enable? Answer me that, Sinclair?"

Lauren freezes up as he stalks closer, his face devoid of any emotion, the ice in his voice shouting his fury.

_Monster._

She takes a step back, and he laughs.

"Ah, yes, of course, you want to play the innocent little flower, who's scared of the big bad wolf. Because that seems to be all you're good for. Weaponizing your pain to make other people the bad guy, because you can't stand the thought that you're actually the villain in this narrative."

Her back meets the door, and his hand rests on the doorknob, caging her with his full height.

"Tell me, would you even give a shit about the tragedies the lower class experienced if your _childhood love_ hadn't been blasted to smithereens?" He croons, close enough to kiss her.

Lauren opens her mouth to retort, her voice dying in her throat. Her eyes are wide with a horrible mix of hatred and guilt. Horrible, horrible _guilt_.

He finally cracked a smile, but it was too thin, and too harsh to consider it a good thing.

"Or do you just like to feel like you’re in the right when it comes to things you know nothing about?" The bite in his words sent a chill down her spine.

He doesn't give her the chance to respond, because, with that, the door swung open, and he slammed it shut as soon as she stumbled through.

It feels...final.

The fire quells, if not to give them a moment to breathe.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kieran will wait for her at the bridge. Because that’s what he always does, and it’s what he will continue to do.

He will lie through his teeth about how _sorry_ he is. It’s a lie she will accept. One she will tangle with her own, and he will have the luxury of not being able to tell the difference anymore. They will repeat these lies until one day it stops becoming one.

And when it stops being a lie, they will start again.

_“You’re a coward”_

_“And you’re a hypocrite.”_

She will smile at him, he will smirk at her. They will shake hands. Yet another deal, less and less meaningful than the last.

It will be this moment that he realizes how much he knows her. He knows her so well, like the back of his hand, as comfortably as he was balancing his sword in his palm. Sad that the assassin knows more about the detective than the "detective" knows of the assassin.

Because that is the way of the assassin and the officer. That is the way it goes, as easy as the moon phases through the sky. They know moments like this are inevitable.

They know this suffering is inescapable. They will welcome the comfort of the sting. 

  
Always always _always_.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me, just living out my Wuthering Heights fantasy.
> 
> I credit sorrysenpai for the prompt idea this was all centered around.  
> I was thinking about ending this on a fluffier note, but that would have undermined what I was going for.  
> And I already have a fluff fic (or two) lined up after this one anyway, so just take the snippet I gave you of Kieran and his one-night stand and just bide your time until I'm willing to write happy Lauki.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read, I really appreciate it!


End file.
